


in the morning light, let my roots take flight

by secretfeanorian



Series: made of starlight [7]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings Online
Genre: Gen, Isengard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 14:47:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4309293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretfeanorian/pseuds/secretfeanorian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rawlind’s heart has been heavy and her mood foul for the past month or so, but when she finally enters a captured Isengard in search of the friend she was forced to leave behind, is any relief waiting for her within?</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the morning light, let my roots take flight

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of clarification on Epitaph, since her appearance may seem a bit random. Rawlind has Epitaph from a little after Wildermore and beyond. Epitaph was at the battle for Helm's Deep, but she did not come into the Glittering Caves with Rawlind, hence her absence in "rage enough inside you". As for the future, complete absence of Mai-nallama; the spirit left after Lheu Brenin was killed. The whole "lingering beyond death for revenge" thing kind of applies here.  
> Also, for anyone who doesn't know; the word 'epitaph' means "a phrase or statement written in memory of a person who has died, especially as an inscription on a tombstone."

_When the cold of winter comes_  
_Starless night will cover day_  
_In the veiling of the Sun_  
_We will walk in bitter rain_  
_But in dreams I can hear your name_  
_And in dreams we will meet again  
_  
_When the seas and mountains fall_  
_And we come to the end of days_  
_In the dark I hear a call_  
_Calling me there  
_ _I will go there and back again_

* * *

Rawlind carefully picks her way through the piles of sodden rubble scattered around the flooded Ring of Isengard. Her heart has not stopped pounding since she first sighted the ruined walls. For all she knows, Lothrandir could be dead…or worse.  
  
“Rawlind!” Golodir calls to her from beyond the entrance into the depths of Isengard. She half races over and despite her efforts to conceal it, her face falls when she sees he is standing alone. He looks at her and seems to be wishing he had better news. “I have exhausted most of the locked doors here in the depths,” He says, shaking his head, “Return to the surface and find Halbarad. There are some buildings in the wall to which he has not yet gained entry and these keys may unlock some of those.” Golodir hands Rawlind a ring of keys and she takes them silently, hands shaking; not trusting herself to speak. “Before I left him, he said he was planning to search the buildings north-west of the tower. That is where you should look for him."  
  
She nods once in acknowledgement, then turns and leaves the pits behind. For all the stench of the surface, she breathes easier once she returns to it. She remembers another moment, near identical to this so many nights ago and despite the sun’s rays on her arms, shivers violently. The spots where Baldgar and Acca had stood are vacant, but for a brief minute, she thinks she can see two figures standing there. It takes her longer than she would’ve liked to shake off the haze clouding her thoughts and when she finally does, she takes off running toward the area Golodir had directed her to, the keys clutched tightly in her fist; Epitaph following close behind.  
  
From around a pile of rubble, an orc jumps out at her, but before she or the orc can blink, the lynx creeping along at Rawlind’s side lunges at its neck. It is dead before Rawlind even has time to draw her sword. She smiles at the cat, then continues running, watching the towering piles of debris around her more carefully.  
  
After what seems like hours to the nervous and stressed lore-master, she catches sight of Halbarad moving between buildings. “Halbarad!” She calls shakily and the ranger turns to face her. For a minute, she sees the same hope combined with dread that had graced her face earlier when Golodir had called to her, and then he sees the keys she’s holding and understands without needing to be told. His face falls a little as the understanding comes, but he simply asks, “Golodir sends more keys?” more as confirmation than anything else.  
  
Rawlind nods and hands the ring over. “Very well. There are doors enough; that is certain.” She smiles slightly in agreement. At this moment, Isengard seems to be made of almost entirely doors. “Lothrandir must be behind one of them. Are you ready to continue the search?”  
  
Rawlind raises an eyebrow at the comment and Halbarad smiles briefly. It fades quickly, but his eyes disclose no despair. “We must remain hopeful, though the search has been fruitless to this point. There are still many buildings in Isengard where he may be held, and we will search them all if we must.”  
  
The Grey Company has separated into groups in order to search for their captive kinsman more quickly, and even those groups continue to split as they delve deeper into Isengard's many buildings.  
  
Rawlind fights her way through surviving Uruk-hai within one of the endless buildings in Isengard’s wall before coming to a crossroads in the path. One cavern heads southward, but the other looks more promising, so Rawlind heads down it first. She wanders for a few minutes, trying doors and finding the rooms beyond empty of the missing Ranger.  
  
She eventually comes upon a large, open room and far below, Halbarad beckons her onward. “I came to this room by another passage, Rawlind!” He calls out as she nears him, half-sliding down the sloping planks of wood that people are so fond of using in place of stairs. “It seems the wall of Isengard is a warren of rooms and tunnels, but we will search them all for Lothrandir.” He continues more quietly once Rawlind reaches him. “Saruman cannot hide him from us forever.”  
  
Rawlind resists the urge to point out that Saruman could’ve killed him, even before the Ents had attacked and forced the traitor Wizard to barricade himself in his tower.  
  
Halbarad stops speaking and listens for a moment to the steady dripping of the water in a distant corner. “Wait, Rawlind,” He whispers, “Someone comes.” The two turn towards the doorway from which Halbarad had entered the room. Logically, Rawlind knows it couldn’t have been Lothrandir, but disappointment still washes over her when Gun Ain enters the room. Then, the disappointment changes to hate and she clenches her fists in an effort to not immediately charge the woman who had so easily and so readily betrayed Lothrandir’s kindness.  
  
When the Angmarim woman sees her, similar hate boils in her eyes. “A pox on you, Rawlind!” She cries, “You should not have come back!” Then her eyes turn to Halbarad, and she sneers. “And you come in the company of another Ranger? Have you not killed enough of their kind?” Of all the insults and of all the taunts that have ever been thrown at Rawlind, this one stings the deepest, for it is a similar thought that plagues many of her sleepless nights and she actually takes a shaky step back when she hears it, her eyes burning.  
  
“I know who you are, Gun Ain,” Halbarad says calmly, drawing the attention away from Rawlind and she can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief when Gun Ain’s hate-filled eyes turn from her. “Lothrandir spoke of you when we rode south. Tell us where he is and it will go easier for you.”  
  
“What makes you so certain you want to see him, Ranger?” Gun Ain says mockingly and dread colder than any that has ever touched her heart grips Rawlind. She freezes and she can hear the blood pounding in her ears. “Very well. I will grant your wish.” She turns back toward the way she came. “Lothrandir!” She calls and tears have already gathered in Rawlind’s eyes. “Come show your friends what has become of you!”  
  
A bent and broken figure emerges from the shadows and sways toward them. If not for the familiar armor, Rawlind would not have recognized him at all.  
  
“No!” Halbarad cries and Rawlind would’ve echoed him, but she can’t make her lips move. “Angmarim witch!” He spits; spits; and Rawlind has never seen him this angry. “What have you done to him?”  
  
“I am not responsible for this,” Gun Ain says, “Your friend refused to cooperate with my master. He tried to resist. Saruman broke his mind.  
  
“You lie! Tell us the truth!” Halbarad seems almost in denial, but Rawlind can’t move. She can barely breathe. Tears fall unchecked from her eyes. She sees no recognition in Lothrandir’s. He shakes and convulses before her, a pitiable figure that bears little to no resemblance to the strong-willed man she remembers. Of all Saruman’s crimes, this is the one that strikes nearest to her heart.  
  
Rawlind had known from even before she herself had escaped that if she ever even saw Lothrandir again, it was likely to be with him in this state, but – lacking confirmation – she’d hoped… There’s always that tiny bit of hope not knowing for sure brings, no matter how far into despair one sinks. That tiny bit of hope one can never crush no matter what happens. But now it has been utterly and irreparably crushed and Rawlind feels her knees shake.  
  
Lothrandir seems to be trying to speak, but his words are muffled and his voice weak. “Fal…” He says, and Halbarad kneels before him, ignoring Gun Ain.  
  
“What is it, Lothrandir?” He asks and at that moment, Corunir and Golodir enter the room from yet another passage.  
  
“Golodir, look! Is that…?” Corunir draws off in horror as they approach. “Oh no…” He whispers.  
  
“Fal…con…” Lothrandir manages and Rawlind’s hate flares. She hadn’t had time to give Lheu Brenin the slow, painful death he deserved and up until now she hadn’t regretted it as there had been more important things to worry about, but now she disagrees with her own ruling. In that moment she wishes she’d peeled his skin, broken every bone in his body, danced on them, gorged his eye out, and then ripped his head off. Her teeth bared and her eyes flashing with so much hatred she can’t breathe and Lothrandir shies away from her. Immediately, she relaxes as the hate leaves her, stepping back as it is replaced with guilt and sorrow.  
  
“Falcon? What are you trying to tell us, Lothrandir?” Halbarad says softly, when he must be boiling with rage and Rawlind feels even more guilty about her initial reaction. “The Falcon Clan is defeated. They have paid for their betrayal, my friend.” Lothrandir continues to shake and does not respond, indeed, he does not give any sign that he’d heard at all.  
  
Rawlind finds she can’t bear to watch any longer and turns away, tears streaming silently down her cheeks. She meets Golodir’s eyes and sees her own rage mirrored there. “What sorcery have they worked on my kinsman?” He hisses and Rawlind almost snaps at him, but restrains herself. She will not be that person who, in grief, rips apart all those around them who grieve as well. “Lothrandir is a shell of himself, and I will make those responsible for his sad state reap the reward of their crime.” She finds herself in complete agreement with the man and turns on Gun Ain. “The Falcon Clan may have paid, Halbarad, but this woman has not, and Saruman has not!” Golodir spits furiously, “Lothrandir cannot avenge himself on them, so I will do so in his memory.” He draws his sword, “Now the witch dies!”  
  
Rawlind almost joins him, but at the last moment, she remembers Lothrandir restraining her in an icy cave in Forochel and offering mercy…and she cannot bear to do so. Lothrandir most likely wouldn’t have wanted that, she thinks, but her anger blinds her enough that she does not move to stop Golodir.  
  
Halbarad, however, does, and he leaps to his feet and grabs Golodir. “Golodir, hold!” He orders firmly. He appears to have determined what should be done and he will not swayed. “Will her death ease even the smallest portion of our grief?” Halbarad demands and Rawlind remembers the numb feeling that had filled her after she’d killed Lheu Brenin. “It will not, Golodir.” He finishes and Golodir pushes Halbarad off him and turns away.  
  
“I know that!” He snaps, then says softly, sadly “I know that better than anyone.”  
  
Rawlind bites her lip to force back a vocal sob because this she knows for certain would not be appreciated.  
  
Halbarad then turns to Gun Ain and when he speaks, his voice remains remarkably calm. “No words of mine can make you feel what we felt for our kinsman. But know this: in Forochel, Lothrandir showed you kindness. No others of my kin would have done the same.” As Halbarad finishes, Lothrandir finally falls and Rawlind knows he has died.  
  
“Lothrandir…” Corunir whispers and Halbarad bends over and touches Lothrandir’s unmoving shoulder.  
  
“I am sorry, my friend,” He says, “I am sorry we did not come in time.”  
  
Rawlind’s world has gone hazy and she can’t think, she can’t…For a moment, she wishes they had never found Lothrandir at all, then takes it back the moment after. True it may be that doubt brings a little bit of hope unbanishable, but eventually that becomes far crueler than simply knowing.  
  
Rawlind turns away from the Rangers, suddenly feeling like the worst sort of intruder. Instead, she watches Gun Ain. As she does, she notices something unusual. She has seen anger in Gun Ain’s eyes before and fear, but never has she seen the look the Angmarim woman gives her now. Her expression is pained and Rawlind is torn between further anger and confusion.  
  
“All I ever wanted was a name, Rawlind.” She whispers, “I wanted to be someone again. I wanted a family to replace the one I had lost, friends to take the place of my emptiness…but there is no one.” In Lothrandir’s memory, Rawlind tries to push away her hate, her anger, and replace it with pity, even empathy, but the best she can do is cruel indifference. “Look at them! That is what I wanted, Rawlind, but no one will miss me! No one will cry when I have gone. No one will mourn.” Rawlind feels the first traces of pity enter her heart and closes her eyes for a moment to blink back another round of tears. “I wanted a name, but all I have done is take names from this world!” Gun Ain’s regret touches Rawlind – it really does; her hate has faded and she no longer wishes to kill the woman – but it has come too late for Lothrandir. “Why do I still serve Saruman? He has not given me what I sought! He could not! I gain nothing by furthering the Wizard’s plans.”  
  
An odd sort of hope is flaring in Rawlind’s heart. She still can’t breathe, but what plans is Gun Ain speaking of? What plans could she be speaking of?  
  
“I speak now for myself, Rawlind,” Gun Ain raises her voice, “I will not allow you and your friends to leave this place as you are."  
  
The lore-master’s heart is pounding and she can barely hear anything through the roar in her ears, but dimly she hears Golodir spit out: “You cannot stop us from leaving, witch!” He moves to attack her, but Rawlind is the one who halts him this time, her eyes wide and hopeful. He stops and looks at her strangely, but she takes no notice.  
  
“I will not let you leave before you hear these words: Lothrandir is still alive.”  
  
Rawlind chokes and she hears Corunir and Halbarad leap to their feet. “What?” Corunir exclaims and Halbarad says, almost desperately; “Can this be?”  
  
For the first time since Rawlind and she met, back when she was Avair, Gun Ain’s eyes are alight with a fierce and sudden joy. She exults in her words and radiates a restless energy. “You spoke once of the strength of Lothrandir’s will and you were not wrong. Saruman tried to exert control over his mind, tried with every ounce of his power, but still your friend resisted. The Wizard wove convincing illusions and portraits of despair, but still Lothrandir fought. Many and powerful were the tricks he employed to break your friend’s mind, but each one failed. Lothrandir remained strong, and the Wizard could find no means of bending him to his will.”  
  
Rawlind isn’t sure if hearing this breaks or mends her heart and if she were to look around, she would see similar thoughts reflected in the eyes of those around her.  
  
“In the end, Saruman had to abandon the effort. He took another prisoner from his cell, a Falcon Clan warrior named Kenned who had proved unable to work in the Pits and dressed him in Lothrandir’s garb. That is the poor creature you see before you.” Gun Ain hands Rawlind a small key, “Lothrandir is in a cell in this building’s southernmost passage.”  
  
_Southern..._ Rawlind’s mind wanders and then she wonders. Could it have been…? Could she have hurried right past Lothrandir and not even seen him? Had he seen her? Upon that thought, a horrible possibility enters her mind. What if he had seen her, but been too weak to call out and what if Gun Ain hadn’t found her own voice and they’d left…Horror fills her at the thought and she has to fight to return to reality when she hears Halbarad begin to speak.  
  
“-would have left this place believing our kinsman to be lost.” She hears. “I am grateful for this thaw in your heart.” Halbarad says to Gun Ain. “For this reason I name you Mercy, and grant you safe passage from Isengard. We have no quarrel.”  
  
“Mercy…” The newly-named ‘Mercy’ draws off and Halbarad turns to Rawlind, but she has already bolted, searching for the junction she’d come upon earlier. She can’t remember running this fast ever before in her life. She reaches the crossroads and bolts down the corridor she’d ignored.  
  
It is short, and she soon comes to a locked gate beyond which appears to be several piles of rags. Squinting in the half-light, one of the piles reveals itself to be a weary prisoner. Rawlind’s heart stops for a moment and she fumbles for Gun Ain’s key. She throws open the gate, and drops to her knees before Lothrandir. He moves, but only barely and her hands hover over him for several moments before hesitantly touching him. She feels him start, then he looks up at her. When his eyes meet hers, she almost sobs. She fights the urge to cradle him to her chest as he blinks.  
  
“Is that you, Rawlind?” His voice is soft, but it is so unmistakably **his** and still strong for all its softness. “I did not think I would see you again,” Lothrandir smiles weakly, “The Wizard was not pleased when you escaped. I almost felt sorry for Saruman. I think his orcs are endlessly disappointing him.” A laugh is startled out of Rawlind as she helps Lothrandir sit up. When they are sitting across from each other, she gives in and pulls him into a gentle, but tight hug.  
  
Rawlind wants to cheer, she wants to sob, she wants to beg forgiveness, she wants to kiss him until she can’t breathe, but she does none of these things and when she hears pounding footsteps coming towards them, she pulls back and stands. She offers Lothrandir her arms, and he grabs them, pulling himself to his feet and slightly leaning against her for support.  
  
When Halbarad, Golodir, and Corunir round the corner, he is standing on relatively steady legs. “Lothrandir!” Halbarad cries, his voice full of emotions Rawlind feels to be filling her up and overflowing. “It is good to see you alive, my friend!” The other three Rangers cluster around him, and reluctantly, Rawlind relinquishes her hold on him.  
  
“Let us leave this sunken pit,” Halbarad says after several minutes and Rawlind snaps back to attention.  
  
“I will be glad to see daylight again,” Lothrandir whispers and Rawlind understands the sentiment. She once again feels out of place and looks around uneasily. The joy in her heart is unmatched, but she is unsure what to do with it all. She doesn’t see Lothrandir watching her, but she does hear him softly call her name. She starts and spins to look at him.  
  
When their eyes meet again, he smiles at her and she smiles back without thinking. Her unease vanishes and she almost says something, but then she notices Epitaph’s ears perk up and is suddenly on alert. “What is it, Epitaph?” She murmurs, but the lynx settles, then turns to watch Lothrandir.  
  
He smiles at the cat. “Epitaph is an interesting name,” He quietly teases and Rawlind sticks her tongue out at him instinctively. The effect is somewhat ruined by the smile she still can’t chase away, but she finds she doesn’t mind.  
  
The group of six begins to move toward the exit. It is slow going, but when Lothrandir stands blinking in the weak sunlight, Rawlind finds that it feels to have lasted only a moment. He straightens and takes a deep breath, free of support briefly. Then he leans against the lore-master.  
  
There’s another small group of Rangers coming their way, having been searching another nearby building and they freeze for a moment when they see the party emerging is one person larger than it had been upon entering. Then, there are joyful cries as they realize.  
  
Rawlind slips away quietly and goes to locate Aragorn. Her eyes are still wet and tears still cling to her lashes, but the smile on her face is wider than it has been in months and her heart feels light enough to fly.


End file.
